


The View From Halfway Down

by ZadieWrites



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Death, Dysfunctional Family, Eye Trauma, Gen, Heavy Angst, I don’t know why I felt this was necessary to create, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Last words, Look. Constantine isn’t even confirmed to exist in the BBC Merlin universe, Major character death - Freeform, Minor, Oh before I forget! Eye stuff trigger warning! Someone’s eye gets injured!, Symbolism, Uther is a bastard, Yes this is literally inspired by the Bojack Horseman episode by the same name-, a very sad mix of Arthurian legend and Bojack Horseman cause like hey if that’s your thing, and no one knows anything about him, for all you know, he COULD be a self destructive mad man, unbetaed, —in fact I directly quote it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites
Summary: What happened after Arthur died? Well, I like to imagine he woke up and ended up at a table with a bunch of his dead relatives who all count their sins together before surrendering their souls to the void at the thirteenth hour!
Relationships: Agravaine de Bois & Uther Pendragon, Arthur Pendragon & Morgana Pendragon, Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Constans (Arthurian) & Ambrosius (Arthurian), Constans (Arthurian) & Constantine (Arthurian, Constans (Arthurian) & Uther Pendragon, Constantine (Arthurian) & Arthur Pendragon, Constantine (Arthurian) & Uther Pendragon, Gorlois/Vivienne (Merlin), Mordred & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois & Agravaine de Bois, Ygraine de Bois & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Ygraine de Bois & Tristan de Bois, Ygraine de Bois/Uther Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	The View From Halfway Down

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don’t remember how this started. But uh yeah. I got really into this. Bojack Horseman inspired Merlin fics because why the hell not, this show’s been over for like a decade, let’s just go wild.

Arthur woke up with a gasping breath.

That enough was surprising to him. One moment he was bleeding out in Merlin’s arms, his vision going black and the next moment he woke up alone, on his back on a floor of stone. The sky above him was an eerie black and completely starless. Somewhere in the distance he heard the echoing call of a raven. 

After a moment of consciousness his hands immediately went to his stomach, but the wound was gone. The only reminder that it had ever existed was the hole in his red tunic outside his chainmail . . . the one with the Pendragon crest on it which he hadn’t been wearing at Camlann. The pain was gone too, as was the blood. 

Now that he had assessed the damage to his body, he began to look around him. He was in some kind of courtyard with grey stone tiles and several statues of what appeared to be dragons. In the center there was a larger statue of a bucking unicorn with a broken horn. Somewhere in the back of his bewildered mind he remembered he’d once came across a tavern in a village long forgotten called the Bucking Unicorn. 

He stood up. He was still wearing his armor, but it felt strangely lighter than normal. There was one pathway leading away from the courtyard, tiled with the same stones. 

“You’re awake.” Arthur heard a deep, feminine voice say behind him, and whipped around to face its owner.

He froze in his place when he saw her. A beautiful, tall woman with a white dress, blue eyes and pale blonde hair that fell around her face in waves. 

“. . . mother.” He breathed.

“It’s good to see you again, love. You must be tired. You’ve had a tragically rough life, and I did not want that for you.” She said, her face softening into a gentle smile. 

Arthur realized she was wearing a long, black leather coat which . . . he’d only ever seen on his father.

“I suppose you being here rules out hell, right?” He said, putting aside his other questions for the moment.

“Oh, my boy . . . of course this isn’t hell. You . . . haven’t really heard of this place. But it’s okay. We’re only here until the thirteenth hour. Now, come with me, the others are waiting.” Ygraine held out her hand for him to grab. 

Arthur did so and she led him down the path, away from the courtyard. After several long minutes, she brought him to a small but proud estate of the same grey brick, but the paste that held the bricks together, it was . . . black as night. There were no windows to be had on the building nor a single flag to indicate what house it may belong to. And he couldn’t see anything around the building either. No grass, or sand or dirt, or anything. Just the path and it existing in some kind of void, that was just as black as the cement that glued it. 

“. . . Mother, what is this place?” The fallen warrior questioned, trying not to let his fear and uncertainty leak into his voice.

She led him up a staircase towards the tall, black door and stood on the top step, before turning to him. The raven continued to caw, and Arthur could swear it was louder this time. 

“You’ll see, darling. Have patience. No one is going to hurt you here, even if they seem like they will.” Ygraine assured him, putting a hand on his arm, and gently rubbing it. 

Arthur felt the sudden and encroaching urge to cry as he realized he’d never felt his mother’s touch before. 

Then the door swung open without anybody knocking on it. Arthur once again felt himself frozen in shock when he saw who had opened it.

Cold, blue eyes, long, dark, untamed curls like the feathers of a grackle, and a sharp, glaring gaze faced him in the doorway.

“M-Morgana?” he stammered. 

His sister wasn’t wearing the torn, black dress he’d seen her in the past several years, but a sleek, velvet number in a vivid emerald green. He knew this dress but he hadn’t seen her in it in so long. It was an uninvited reminder of a happier time in the king’s life.

“Come on, we’re all waiting on you. Of course you had to die last, always treating everything like a competition.” her words themselves indicated aggression but they had an air of insincerity. 

It was almost playful. The way they had once talked to one another before they became enemies. It hurt Arthur’s heart to hear that tone in her voice and her accent again. He wished she wouldn’t use it.

Caw! He heard that raven squaw again, though when he looked around to see where the hell it was coming from he saw no bird. 

Obeying Morgana, Arthur stepped across the threshold, into the windowless building. He found himself in a close, dimly lit hallway with Morgana and his mother. There was no torch to be seen, but he could still see their faces effectively enough. Some strange, lunar light was shining through, but from where, he couldn’t guess. Morgana and Ygraine began striding down the hallway, and, having no other option, the warrior followed them. 

At last they’d come to another door, just as black as the first. The one-toned color palette added to the darkness was beginning to confuse his eyes. Morgana pushed open the door leading them to some sort of dining hall. It had a long, wooden rectangular table in the center of it and every chair around it was occupied but three. 

At the head of the table was a strikingly handsome man in full plate armor painted dark red, like dried blood, with gold accents. He had a Pendragon cape on over the armor and dark, curly hair. His eyes scanned up and down Arthur methodically and were a light, icelike blue. Like those of a wolf. At his side were three men, one of which made Arthur have to blink several times to ensure he was really seeing who he thought he was seeing.

It was his father. He looked a lot younger, especially given the state he’d last saw him in, his hair was black. Honestly, he looked more like Morgana than ever before. But it was, without a doubt, Uther Pendragon. And he was also in full plate. 

“Father?” inquired Arthur in disbelief. 

“I’ve missed you, my boy. This will make sense to you in time.” Uther told him. 

“Then, who are you?” Arthur questioned, gesturing to the man with the lycanthropic eyes. 

“Oh! You really didn’t tell him?” the man said to Uther and the other two. “I’m Constantine Pendragon!” he said, outstretching his arm to indicate himself. 

Arthur had heard very little about his grandfather. Uther never liked to talk about him, most of what he’d heard he’d heard from Geoffrey and Gaius. He knew he had a reputation for being unstable in both his personal and professional life. But he knew that must mean the two men by his father were his uncles who Uther also didn’t like to talk about, named Constans, and Ambrosious. 

It was pretty clear the four of them were related. They all had dark, curly hair and blue eyes. Ygraine must have given Arthur the only blonde gene in the Pendragon family. 

“Sit down. We don’t have all night.” Constantine told Arthur.

Arthur hesitantly sat down at the other end of the table, as Morgana and Ygraine sat in their empty seats. He took this opportunity to see who else was at this table. Beside his mother, was a tall man, with a muscular build, and blonde hair that reached his broad shoulders. He was in all black armor, with a crest he . . . somewhat recognized. It was a white phoenix against a background of all black. On the other side of Ygraine there was . . . Agravaine. Of all people. 

His traitor uncle. 

Continuing down the table there was a beautiful woman with high cheekbones, a roman nose and long, auburn hair, which spread like a curtain over one of her shoulders across her silk dress which was the color of yellow fire. By her side, a man in armor with rusty brown curls and . . . what looked like four arrows in his gut and chest. But if he felt the arrows, he gave no indication. On one side of Arthur sat Morgana, on the other side sat a man he’d truly not expected to be here . . . Lancelot. In the orange tunic with the crest he’d pretended was his to get into the knights of the round table when Arthur had first met him. Now the last time he saw Lancelot, he’d been burying him after he kissed Arthur’s fiance, so one could say his emotions about this whole thing were mixed. 

“What am I doing here?” Arthur asked, hesitantly. 

“We’re here to talk about how we died. Constans, my boy, my most displeasing heir, go first, will you?” Constantine invited. 

Constans rolled his beautiful blue eyes. “I was assassinated, via poisoning by my most trusted advisor, who later usurped my throne.” admitted the man.

“I suppose trusting the wrong people and being bitten for it, is a common trait in this family. Hence why the lovely Miss de Bois, who I am positively elated to say is at this table tonight, will always be a Pendragon, if only by marriage. Speaking of, do you want to talk about how that worked out for you, Ygraine? We were gonna get to it eventually!” Constantine said with a harsh laugh. 

Ygraine’s blue gaze which was always kind when it was on Arthur, turned frigid. She looked directly at Uther, who slightly avoided her eyes. 

“My husband murdered me.” stated the late queen, evenly. 

“I never would have intentionally hurt you! You were not supposed to die!” Uther snapped. 

“Unintentionally or intentionally, Uther, I died! You should never have gone behind my back to Nimueh, especially since you already had an heir with Lady Vivienne! I died because you were too proud and too afraid to admit Morgana was your bastard!” 

Morgana cocked her head, with a slight smirk. 

“But you and Merlin told me Morgause lied . . . that you had nothing to do with my mother’s death.” Arthur said, looking between his parents on opposite sides of the table. 

“It’s not Morgause who lied, darling.” Ygraine muttered. 

Uther said nothing at that.  
“But why . . . why wouldn’t Merlin tell me?” asked Arthur, a lump forming in his throat, as the shock hit him.

Ygraine reached out and put a hand on his arm again as Arthur looked down.

“So many lies were told,” Constantine began with a growl. “This is to be the legacy of my once-regal bloodline?! In a thousand years when they talk of the Pendragons, they’ll say they were a bunch of liars and tyrants and cowards and traitors and oblivious fools! And they will not be wrong! My disappointment in each and every one of you wretch-like reprobates is without fathom! I’m ashamed to have sired you and I am glad I never met half of you!” the ancient king ranted, throwing a full wine glass across the table. Wine splattered everywhere, staining Lancelot’s tunic and causing Arthur to flinch.

“Really, Father? Then should we talk about how you died?” suggested Constans, in a threatening tone. 

“I have nothing to hide.” 

“It’s quite a story. Not one we have time to go into every detail of which at this time but, I remember it well.” Constans continued to edge. 

“Tell it already, then, boy!” The man in the red armor flared. 

Constans turned his cerulean stare to the table and said, “He unlocked every stall in his stable, set a fire in the back of it, and stood in front of the entrance. My father died in a self-inflicted stampede. You have no idea what kind of news that is to wake up to in the middle of the night . . .” 

There was a long pause in the room as everyone processed that information. 

“I look pretty good for a man with a shattered skull, do I not?” Constantine chuckled. 

“I miss when I thought I didn’t belong to this family, you’re all absolutely out of your minds . . .” Morgana groaned. 

“Ah, our resident liberal love-child. Tell us, girl, how you died?” Constantine said, moving on from the subject of his grisly death as if it were never mentioned. 

“Well. Merlin wasn’t satisfied with trying to poison me. He decided he needed to finish the job, with an immortal blade.” Morgana said, bitterly. 

“Merlin tried to poison you?!” Arthur demanded. 

She threw her head back to laugh, her curls catching the light. “Sometimes I wonder, dear brother, did he tell you anything?!” 

Arthur had no response to that. His head spun. Merlin was the one person in the world he thought he could trust. 

“”. . . apparently not.” he painfully confessed. 

And there was that raven again. Caw-ing away. 

“Is the once and future king ready to tell us how he died? Since you’re so keen on interrupting?” Constantine asked. 

“I . . .” Arthur begun to stutter. 

He remembered the cold metal sliding inside him, slicing every one of his organs in its path. He remembered feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He remembered stabbing his opponent back . . . and the last thing he saw before he collapsed being the chilling smile on Mordred’s morbidly youthful face as Excalibur slid out of his torso. 

“Where’s Mordred? A bunch of other . . . dead people are here, where’d he end up?” Arthur inquired, dodging the question. 

“Oh, we lost contact with the boy. He’s adrift. Much like he was in life.” Ambrosious answered. 

Morgana’s eyes became veiled in concern. “But . . . he’ll be okay, right? His soul? He can’t just be in limbo forever.” she said. 

She really did love that child, Arthur realized. 

“How much do you think we actually know about the afterlife?” Constantine questioned.

“You’ve been dead for what? A hundred years?! I thought you’d know something about being dead by now!” snarled the witch. 

“I understand you care about the druid boy, but besides, I think we have enough people who have wronged each other around this table already. Uther on his own has created enough drama to last another hundred years. It’s probably a good thing the traitor knight isn’t here.” 

Morgana grabbed a table knife and stabbed it into the table. “How dare you talk about him that way, you maniac?!” 

“It makes perfect sense to me. You helped raise him. Traitors breed traitors.” 

Morgana wrenched the knife out of the wooden surface and threw it hard at Constantine’s head. It sailed through the air, spinning in a perfect arc and hit him hard in the eye. No blood emerged from the new wound. 

Constantine laughed, grabbing the handle of the knife, and pulled it out. The hole in his eye closed up almost immediately. 

“Uther, you taught her well. She has your temper and your aim. I suppose you weren’t entirely a disgrace.” the old king said.

Seeing how Arthur’s grandfather spoke to his father, he slowly was beginning to realize why Uther seemed to have such a difficult time complimenting him. 

“When are we going to ask Uther about his death, anyway? I’m dying to hear that story.” Constans mentioned.

“Ah, yes, the tyrant that went out, not with the bang we all expected him to but with a slow, depressing crawl,” Agravaine said, in a taunting tone. “What did it, Uther? What inside you finally snapped? Was it realizing you’d been taking your rage out on innocents in an attempt to get vengeance for your wife, when in reality vengeance was much more effectively attainable by simply falling on your sword from the beginning? Was it your conscience finally making itself known? Was it the fear that your son would soon come to resent you just as much as your daughter and everyone in your life would abandon you until all that would be left is the bitter, angry ghosts of the people you murdered?” 

“. . . It was knowing that my daughter would come to know the cold emptiness I felt every day. That my daughter would look around her one day and see only enemies. That my daughter would die lonely but not alone.” Uther admitted. 

Morgana’s gaze filled with rage. “Shut it, you spineless bastard! Don’t pretend you ever cared! You’d only love me until I challenged you! I hate you and I will always hate you, I will hate you for every moment until I’m taken when the clock strikes thirteen!” 

Arthur watched Morgana as she hurled the bitter words at their father. “. . . you only ever were trying to hurt him. You hated me but I did nothing to you. That’s why. You looked at me and you saw my father.” Arthur realized out loud. 

“You told me you would never betray him.”

“Constantine, please mediate this!” The blonde man by Ygraine said.

“Tristan is right, this is going to go off topic. I understand you all have bad blood.” Constantine obliged.

“Can I just say that I’m being labeled a tyrant, when I know most of the people around this table aren’t exactly morally opposed to the idea of mass murder.” Uther proposed.

“I’m not morally opposed to mass murder, I’m politically opposed to stupidity. You don’t have to take any issue with the ethics of genocide to know it’s not a wise thing to do as a ruler, and hasn’t worked out for those who have tried it in the past. Just ask your poor son who had to grieve you alone because no one else cared that you died.” informed Constans.

Arthur looked down again. “This whole time you hated sorcery because you thought it killed my mother . . .” 

“The deal with Nimueh gave me you!” Uther explained.

“So I have to choose between my own existence and my mother’s life?! How could you put me in that position?!” 

“Constantine!” Tristan exclaimed, hopelessly. 

“Alright that’s enough. Arthur, I know you’ve been through a lot, I know you’ve been lied to and I know you’re confused but . . . we are on a time limit. Soon none of this will even matter.” Constantine told him. 

Arthur heard the raven again. It kept getting louder and louder.

Everyone at the table looked around at each other, as if no one knew what else to say. 

“This is what you Pendragons do . . . you argue and you bicker and you fight, and who ends up getting hurt is the innocents among you who are trying their best.” Ygraine said, quietly.

“I wouldn’t say he’s so innocent. He hasn’t told us his story yet.” Constans remarked.

“. . . Mordred and I stabbed each other.” Arthur finally said. “He stabbed me-he was my friend and he stabbed me . . . he betrayed me, that’s why I killed him, I didn’t know what else to do!” 

“Shhh, it’s alright. Everything’s alright.” Ygraine cooed to him.

“Everything’s not alright! I’m dead!” 

“Soon, this will all be over.” Ygraine hushed.

“That’s worse!” Arthur said.

Meanwhile the bird cawed and cawed away.

Then-

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! 

Seven more dings followed.

The clock struck thirteen.

“Ah, damn it all. I knew we wouldn’t have time for everyone.” Constantine said, standing up. 

“What happens now?” Arthur questioned.

Then the group filed out of the room and Arthur had no choice to follow. They went through another door, going deeper into the building. 

This room was big and empty. It had a broad, wooden step in the center of it, with a strange, black portal. Like a black hole. Or a black lake tipped sideways. Chairs were arranged in a crescent in front of the step. 

Constantine stepped onto the wood, his metal boots thudding against it. The others just sat down to watch.

“You know, Uther . . . you shouldn’t have stopped at magic users. I think you should have burned that rotting shitpile of a city and everyone who lived in it to the ground, leaving only a pile of bones and brick the moment you took it from Vortigern. I would have been more proud of you.” Constantine said, before giving a little salute and stepping one foot inside the portal.

Thick, black liquid overtook his leg, before he stepped inside. The goo swallowed him up, causing him to disappear completely. 

Arthur felt fear.

Then the lady with the auburn hair, who hadn’t said a word at the portal stood up and walked up onto the stage. 

“I’m Lady Vivienne . . . I can only imagine what you all must think of me. Especially you, Gorlois.” She said, gesturing to the man with the curly brown hair. "And I agree you deserved better. But I can’t regret it all completely. It gave me the strongest and most capable daughter I ever could have imagined having. Morgana, I was always proud of you. Right up until the end. And hey, Uther . . . we had fun, right?” She chuckled, nervously, as she stood up there, ringing her hands.

Then she slipped into the black.

Arthur could have sworn Morgana’s eyes were shining as Tristan got up next. Tristan stood on the step and looked out at them.

“. . . I had the unique honor of dying twice. I’m ashamed that I went out the same way both times. And I’m not referring to the way it happened . . . I’m referring to the way I felt. I wish I hadn’t died so angry. I’m not . . . not really an angry person. But I know it’s too late to make sure I don’t get remembered that way.” The man said, waving as he stepped into the void, his waving hand being the last thing to be swallowed up.

Gorlois got up next. He looked out at the quickly shrinking crowd. “I was too good for all of you bastards! I wish there was a hell so you could burn in it!” He scoffed, jumping into the portal of smooth, black goo.

Lancelot got up next, stepping on the stage, and he was crying. 

“I tried . . .” Was all the most honorable knight Arthur ever knew said before he stepped into the other side.

Then Ambrosius was next. And he just shook his head, refusing to give any last words. Then he let himself fall inside the black.

Then Constans.

“Remember me, alright? Cause I wasn’t a tyrant and I wasn’t a hero . . . Nothing remarkable about me at all. I just barely took care of my father’s kingdom . . . no one else will remember me.” Was his message. 

Then Agravaine.

“. . . sister, I am a coward. And a snake. And an underhanded son of a bitch. But I loved you with all my heart, as so many people did. That’s why the world got so much worse after you died. Things will never be the same. The sun will never shine as bright. The flowers will never bloom as often, nor as colorfully. I want you to know that. That you . . . made everything around you better. For everybody.” Agravaine the traitor told Ygraine, before stepping into the portal.

Then . . . Uther stood. Arthur watched his father step onto the wooden step and look at his children and his late wife.

After a long silence Uther said, “I’m not proud of it. My life. If Ygraine made everything around her better . . . then I made it worse. I’m the only person in this room who can’t say they tried their best. I’m sorry for that.” 

The king approached the portal, stared into it for a moment, then heaved a sigh. He stepped into it, the black unceremoniously and silently letting him slip inside.

Morgana stepped up after her father. 

“. . . I’m so tired.” She confessed, with a hoarse sob. “I felt so numb towards the end. I fear how bad things would have gotten for me. I didn’t wanna be a hero but I didn’t wanna be a villain either. I just wanted to be free. I was born into a world that hated me. And I don’t think that’s fair.” She explained, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Arthur kind of wanted to hug her. 

“I was hurt . . . in so many ways. By people that couldn’t see how it was killing me. I became a monster because it felt like people expected me to.” Morgana finished, wiping her tears before falling backwards into the void.

So now it was just Arthur and his mother. Arthur stood up from his chair and followed Ygraine.

She and him both faced one another in front of the portal. 

“Is it . . . terrifying?” the warrior asked her.

“No,” she shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s just how it is. Everything must come to an end. Every book has its last chapter. And we’ve long since surpassed that.” She reached her hand out to touch the portal, so black liquid began crawling up her hand.

“I don’t want my wife to have to rule alone.” 

“She’s stronger than your father, darling. Besides, she won’t be alone. Not completely.”

“What if I’m different . . . on the other side?” 

“Oh, Arthur . . . no. There is no other side. This is it.” She explained, as the liquid encompassed her, bringing her through the portal, leaving Arthur alone.

Arthur looked into the pool of black in front of him and felt a sudden feeling of uncertainty. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

And when he looked around he saw that the black cement holding the bricks together had begun to turn to liquid and drip, slipping down the walls and pooling on the floor. 

He felt his breathing get heavier and his heart begin to race.

Then he heard the raven again. He turned his head to see the black bird, on the floor, black goo swirling around its scrawny, bony legs. 

It’s feathers began to shift and grow, and it slowly transformed, into a young man . . . the young man was wearing armor and a scarlet cape with the Pendragon crest on it. He had curly black hair and a boyish face.

“. . . Mordred.” Arthur whispered, as the black goo kept pouring from the walls, it was now ankle-length on the floor now.

“I’m sorry for how it all ended. I felt like I had no other option.” The other knight confessed.

Arthur stepped off the stage, his boots splashing in the goo, towards Mordred.

“It’s . . . okay. I’m sorry too.” The king responded, softly. 

“Can . . . you be friends with me again . . . just until it swallows us both up? I’m afraid, Arthur.” 

Arthur grabbed the boy’s forearms and rested his forehead on his. 

“Me too.”

And they both stood there for a while, as the liquid poured from every crevice in every brick. The goo that filled the room increased in depth from shin deep, to waist deep, to chest deep. It didn’t feel warm or cold or wet or dry or like anything at all, really. It felt like they were fading away.

When the liquid was up to Mordred’s chin, he looked up. 

“Thank you. For everything.” He said before the knight’s head was swallowed into the black. 

Arthur’s last thought in his head as the sea of black approached his head and ears and mouth was,

_I wonder what Merlin’s doing right now . . . I hope he’s not crying over me. I don’t want him to be sad. Death’s not even that scary . . ._

That was it. Everything was gone. Arthur, the castle, everyone inside it . . . all that was left was a corpse on earth and a memory, here in the nether space.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, let me know what you thought of this sort of more metaphorical story I tried out cause it’s like far less literal as far as setting goes or anything like this could be happening in Arthur’s head or it might not be or who even knows.


End file.
